


The Red Feather

by captor_of_mytuna



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Detective AU, Gen, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captor_of_mytuna/pseuds/captor_of_mytuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College students are being murdered at the hands of a serial killer, the only clue that's left behind is a red feather. Hans, his siblings and Feliks must stop the killer before he commits any more murders and before one of them meets a sinister end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rain pours heavily down on a cool spring day in the middle of Aberdeen, making the already grey city seem even bleaker and dreary than normal. The unrelenting wind had finally died down as the day had gone on, leaving only the sound of the pelting rain and the splashing of cars driving through puddles along the busy roads, nobody paying any attention to the scene occurring at a flat in Orchard Street.

Lukas Bondevik walks through the door of a small flat; arms laden with groceries as he proceeds to amble up the stairs, all the while muttering under his breath at why his supposed best friend didn't see fit to help him with the shopping this week. He'd shared a room with Matthias Kohler, a student from Denmark and his brother Johannes Bondevik for little over six months now. The young Norwegian finally had made it up all the stairs required for him to get to his room to find the door slightly ajar. He shrugged at this; someone was always forgetting to close the door, no matter how many times he had to tell them.  
As he opened the door he was suddenly hit with the harsh scent of iron, now this was odd. He called out for either of the two, but he was only met with deafening silence. He was beginning to get worried. Johannes never left his room; the teenager was the same age as him, but he was constantly on the internet running one of these 'hipster blogs', as Matthias says. He put the shopping bags down and threw his coat onto the sofa, before venturing into his brother's room. The sight that greets him stopped his world dead.  
Crimson was smeared across the floor and the bed, as the two most important people in his life lay motionless in pools of their own blood. Lukas did the only thing he could do in this situation. He screamed before he phoned 999 and tried to explain the situation between his hysterical sobbing. As soon as he hung up, he collapsed to the floor, grief overwhelming him as he sobbed his heart out.


	2. Chapter 1

Detective Hans Lochte was not having a good day; he'd slept in this morning, resulting in him getting an earful from his little sister as he walked into the office, he'd only been late by ten minutes, it wasn't that much of a big deal. He wasn't getting anywhere with the case he'd been given at the start of the week, which was really getting frustrating. Now he has two more murders that need investigating and the call came in just before he was due to go home for the day. He packed all the things he thought he'd need and was about to say something to the rest of his team, but they had already followed suit. Now all they needed was their field medic.

Hans dragged his feet as he walked towards the only medic the office had. He groaned to himself as he pushed the door open.

"Feliks we need you, there's been a double homicide," he ground out, his unmistakably Dutch accent making the words sound harsher than initially intended, but he didn't care; he wasn't particularly fond of Feliks in any case. The blonde haired doctor swivelled round in his chair and fixed the Dutchman with a look of disgust.

"Honey, what on earth are you wearing? You should not be wearing a plaid shirt with a red tie. In fact, you should not be wearing a plaid shirt. End of. And O.M.G, are those socks? You are seriously wearing socks and sandals? Honestly, what ever should I do with you? You are a disgrace to all of fashion." He sighed dramatically at the end of his tirade, only encouraging a raised eyebrow from Hans.

"I can wear what I want Feliks. Now come on, we might catch a lead from this," Hans swiftly walked out of the room, trying to be quick, but not appear to be running away from Feliks.

In no time they were in Orchard Street, the traffic was heading the opposite way to which they were travelling, so they weren't caught up in rush hour. The four of them quickly climbed the stairs, Leon helping Feliks with the gurneys. Leon, unlike his older brother, actually liked Feliks. He in fact looked up to the man as he wasn't afraid to speak his mind. Hans knocked on the door of the apartment, which was opened by a small, blonde haired boy. He looked to be no older than 19 and he looked terrible, his eyes were red and puffy and he looked utterly grief-stricken, which wasn't surprising.

"Detective Hans Lochte," he said, "from Grampian police, we're here to investigate your call, Mr…"

"Bondevik," the kid said, his voice weak and hoarse. Hans let his sister take over from here. Belle was always very good at talking to witnesses, much better than Hans was in any case, he never could quite get the hang of trying to talk to someone sympathetically without feeling incredibly awkward. As Belle led Lukas over to the sofa that was sitting in the middle of the room, Hans beckoned Feliks and Leon inside. They walked into the bedroom and Feliks let out a low whistle.

"Wow, well I best get to work then," he knelt down beside the first body. The man was fairly tall, Hans would say he was just a little shorter than he was, and definitely not from these parts if the Danish flag necklace was anything to go by. The man's sky blue eyes were glassy and his hair, which was obviously gelled up, like his own, looked awful as the blood had dried into the hair. Hans began to look for things around the first body. He saw a footprint on the cream coloured windowsill of the room. It was far too neat and precise to be a mistake from the murderer getting away. It was planted, just to rile him up.

Leon held up what looked to be an ornamental axe, the face of it was covered in blood; no doubt that of poor man lying on the floor. At least Leon had remembered to wear disposable gloves this time, he'd accidentally forgot at the last death they'd investigated and he hadn't had Feliks stop whining at him about it. Him! He wasn't the one to not wear them, but Feliks claimed that he couldn't possibly tell Leon off, oh no the blame automatically fell on him. By the time Hans had finished his inner bitching about the Pole, Feliks had already moved onto the second body. He looked younger than the Dane, but about the same age as Mr Bondevik, but he was dressed so differently him. Thick, wide framed glasses and a bright blue and red checked shirt that hung open over a plain black t-shirt that said something that must have been in some other language as he didn't recognise the words. Accompanying that were a pair of deep blue skinny jeans, that were frankly too tight on the boy and a pair of red Converse adorning his feet. Unlike the other corpse, the boy had no blood on him at all, but there was a thick bruise around his neck. Around his neck hung a bunch of cable cords and tucked amongst them was a red feather. The same type of feather as was left on the body of the murder they had investigated last time. Hans sighed, and rubbed his face with his hand, before turning to Feliks.

"What've you got Feliks?"

"Well, this one definitely deserved to die." He said, almost flippantly, gesturing towards the kid on the bed. "Honey, no one can even dream of pulling off your ensemble. Those frames are so tacky, and those jeans are so tight they actually don't look healthy. And what can I say about th-"

"Feliks! You're here to tell us what killed him, not give him fashion advice!" Hans growled, the man always did this, no matter how many times he was told off. One time he sent some poor woman into tears as he gave her his opinion of her clothing as she was giving evidence at her son's murder investigation. Since then, they had kept him away from all future witnesses.

Feliks gave a dramatic sigh, "You're no fun Hanny," Hans grimaced at the nickname, Hans was a short enough name, there was no need for any nicknames, but the Pole insisted. "He obviously died from asphyxiation, but the odd thing is, there aren't any defensive wounds, in fact his arms as you can see haven't moved from the position of holding his laptop. In an instantaneous death this wouldn't be a surprise, but asphyxiation, as you know, takes a substantial amount of time to kill someone. So I think he was drugged, but I won't know until I run some tests," now this was what he was being paid for. The man was the best medic they'd had in years, even if he was annoying as fuck.

"He could've been drugged through this right?" Leon said, holding up a glass of water that had been on the boys table. Hans nodded in approval, whilst Feliks clapped his hands together.

"Yup! Spot on Lee!" He exclaimed brightly, reaching out to grab the glass. He took in a sniff and immediately moved the glass away. "Yup, defo drugged. Jesus, how could he not be aware that this was drugged!? It's so strong!" he exclaimed.

"You know what it is?" Hans asked, hopefully to see if they could narrow the search of people down.

"No clue, just know that water isn't supposed to smell like that," Feliks shrugged. "Now him over there," he gestured to the other man in the room, "was beaten to death, and definitely put up a struggle, as the bruises on the man's face indicate he was in a fight. They are fresh so they've been acquired within the past few hours. The axe Lee was holding is most likely what was used to beat him. So at least that narrows down your search, as does the footprint on the 'sill."

"How?" Leon inquired; he was still new to this, he'd only been working for a few weeks. Hans had managed to convince the Chief to allow Leon to work with them and learn all the tricks of working homicide cases; the Chief had owed him a favour so it was allowed.

"It means that the person must be strong and healthy as he managed to overpower the man, who as you can see is not in bad shape himself, and also managed to beat him to death. Whereas the footprint should be able to tell us the size of feet the culprit has, which should narrow it down to whether it is a man or a woman behind this. And the size is about a size ten I think," Hans cut in before Feliks, smirking at the bristling doctor. He then took out a measuring tape. "Yeah, ten and three quarter inches, size ten," he declared.

"So it's a man then?" Leon asked.

"Yeah, should be. Unless the footprint is a fake, like a woman wearing too big shoes, which by the way is so totally awful. If I saw a woman wearing men's shoes I would arrest her right away." Feliks stuck his tongue out at Hans, he just ignored him.

"Thank God you can't arrest people then," Hans muttered, laughing at the thought of Feliks bringing in people who wore clashing colours and people who wore fuchsia. "Well, I think we're finished for the moment in here. I'm going to check on Belle."  
It looked like Belle had just finished her interview with Mr Bondevik. She got up off of the sofa and glided over to wear he stood in the middle of the room. She brandished her notebook in front of his face for a moment, before she began reading her notes back at him.

"The man on the floor is Matthias Kohler and the one on the bed is Johannes Bondevik. They're both university students, Matthias was studying Languages and Johannes was studying Geothermic Engineering. Matthias is twenty and is from Denmark, he's lived here for two years and is apparently well liked and hasn't got any enemies. Johannes is nineteen, from Norway, not very popular, but he's not got any enemies either. Although, Johannes runs a blog, so he might have enemies there, maybe? Lukas said that he left the flat to get groceries at half past four and by the time he got back at quarter to five, the two were already dead," Belle concluded, snapping the notebook shut and stuffing it into one of the pockets of her plain black work trousers.

"Good work, Belle," he said, ruffling her hair fondly. "I think everything's finished, I'd finish up with interviewing the rest of the flat tomorrow." She smiled brightly up at him and nodded, before turning back round to the poor Norwegian sitting dejectedly on the sofa.

"I'm sorry for your loss, but rest assured we won't stop until we find whoever did this, isn't that right Hans?"

"Yes. If anybody suspicious hangs around here in the next couple of days, don't hesitate to call the police. We'll update you with any new information we get that pertains to this case. Belle," and with that Hans walked out of the apartment heading to meet with the two boys waiting at the police van. As he hurried down the stairs he nearly missed it, there was an envelope on the floor. The envelope was plain white in colour and had no address or name on the front of it, but there was something suspicious about a blank sealed envelope being left in the middle of a landing. Hans stooped down and picked it up, turning it over to see if anything was written on the other side. No such luck. However he noticed there was some fluff in the flap of the envelope. Red fluff. He neatly opened the envelope along the seam and a letter fell out, it said;

 

Hello~

Tut, tut. Three murders in one week? You lot are really slipping. But, I bet you still have no idea who's done it. Not that I expected you would, you are all incredibly incompetent beings. Sometimes I wonder how stupid the rest of humanity can get and I think of you; you sad, sorry excuses for detectives, scrabbling for the most obvious of clues, not paying attention to the art we create.  
If you haven't already figured it out, I'm the one who killed those stupid bastards in there and also the one just down the street. I am also the one who's going to be responsible for all the next murders, and the sad thing is; you'll probably never catch me~  
So here's the deal, I think I can afford to lend you a helping hand. I am targeting students, as you may already be aware of. But, I guess I can leave you a clue maybe at the unveiling of my newest piece of work.  
Until then, my fondest regards.

Me~

 

Hans' face paled considerably as he read the letter from start to finish, the culprit obviously had no intentions of stopping. His hands shook as he put the letter back into the envelope and hurried down the rest of the stairs. He really needed some air.

"Hanny! ... Hanny? … Hanny, what's wrong?" Feliks rushed over, dropping the flamboyant act as soon as he saw the pale shade Hans' skin had gone. He grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the ambulance, forcing him to sit. Hans just took out the letter and waved it in front of Feliks' face. The Pole grabbed it and read it through whilst Leon read it over his shoulder, which wasn't hard for the man to do as he was a good few inches taller than him. "So, I guess we're dealing with some sort of psychopathic or sociopathic serial killer. That's just fucking fantastic." He grumbled out, so unlike his usual flamboyant nature.

"Yeah. Well, at least we can be assured of one thing; someone this cocky is bound to slip up somewhere along the line."

Well, at least the rain had stopped.


	3. Chapter 2

The rest of the day flew by quickly; they dropped their stuff off at the station, before they headed to their respective homes. As soon as the day had finished, it seemed that the next day started immediately. Before he knew it, it was morning and he had to force himself out of bed. Today he decided he wouldn't wear anything that Feliks would find offensive, today they all needed to concentrate. They needed to find something, anything that would be able to stop whoever was doing this. Shoving on a pair of dark jeans and a plain blue shirt and tie, he quickly grabbed his things and headed out of the door to work.

He only had to walk fifteen minutes to get to work, but he usually left half an hour so he could be in the office first, and also so he had time to pick up breakfast for everyone. Leon usually forgot to eat breakfast because he always seemed to wake up a little late, Belle would never turn down a Danish; ever and Feliks got everyone coffee so Hans was obliged to get him breakfast too.

Hans strolled into the bakery he always got breakfast from; it was small, but cosy and it always smelled absolutely divine in the morning. He greeted the baker, who waved at him with a cheery smile.

"Hola Hans! How are you today?" The cheery Spaniard asked, literally beaming. He always exerted a cheerful aura, no matter what day it was.

"I'm good Antonio, you?"

"I'm fantastic! The usual?"

"Yeah," Hans leant against the counter; this would probably be the only relaxing moment of his day. He inhaled the sweet smell of baked goods; the smell was the only sense of normality some days, it made him smile.

"There ya go! Have a nice day Hans!" Antonio called, waving at him as the Dutchman exited the bakery.

The rest of Hans' walk to work was peaceful; the rain had started to drizzle, but it rarely seemed to stop anyway, and the wind was calm, which was unusual to say the least. He jogged up the steps of the building, pushing the doors open to find, as usual, he was the only one of his team here. He opened the door of his office and set the bag of pastry goods on his desk. He opened his drawer to check everything was still there; his gun, badge, numerous pieces of paper, everything was just how he had left it. He checked his watch; it was five to nine now, so everyone should be starting to come in. The sound of the door opening and slamming shut greeted his ears; that would be Feliks, who would be closely followed by Leon. He had a feeling that Belle would turn up late, as she would go to Orchard Street to finish up the interviews from yesterday; she still had to interview everybody who lived in the flat, to see if they heard anything or saw anything.

Leon slammed the door of his office open, purple shadows under his eyes and what looked like a shaving cut was still bleeding on his face. He grimaced at the noise the door made as it hit the wall.

"Leon, are you hung-over?" the Dutchman asked with a grin, he didn't even try to cover the amusement in his voice.

"Piss off," he grunted in response. He went over to his own desk, and put his head down on it, groaning. He looked like shit; Hans was desperately trying not to laugh.

"Well then, I guess that's one more danish for me then," he said with a grin, pulling out the sweet pastry and waving it in the air at the younger man. Leon raised his head and, like a flash, he shot out of his seat and grabbed the danish the man was offering to him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, nibbling on the confectionary. He went back to his seat and leant back in it.

"I'm off to see Feliks, see what he's got," he said, grabbing the bag. It took him no time at all to reach Feliks' door; it was only down the hall a bit. For once he was actually looking forward to seeing the Pole; if only for the promise of coffee and, hopefully, getting some results. He opened the door and strode purposefully into the room, not bothering to knock on the door. Feliks looked up sharply from his computer, his mouth already open to say something snarky, but he stopped short.

"Y-y-y-your hair!" he half-stuttered, half-shrieked. Hans raised his hand to his hair; he had no idea what was wrong. Then he realised; he'd forgotten to put the gel in it.

"Yeah, this is what it normally looks like Feliks, no need to panic. I've got breakfast," he held up the brown paper bag and waved it, "you got coffee and results?"

"I got coffee, but I'm not finished autopsying the bodies yet. I was going to say, your hair looks, well… nice," he shuddered at the fact that he'd just paid a compliment to Hans. Hans of all people. Hans looked horrified, it made the Pole smirk. This could be worked to his advantage.

"Can you tell me what you've got so far then?"

"Yeah, I finished off Johannes this morning; I was just filling in the details when you waltzed in here. As I said yesterday he was poisoned by a paralytic, which Jones informed me is Gallamine Triethiodide; which is usually used in surgical procedures to stop all muscle movement during operations. He was also quite obviously asphyxiated using the wires. I also got everything else back from Jones," he gestured towards the metal table with all the materials they'd collected from the apartment. "The envelope was sealed with standard PVA glue and there aren't any fingerprints on it at all. The cords also have no fingerprints, except from the three members of the flat, likewise with the axe. This guy is so careful, we're getting absolutely nowhere." He sighed in defeat, looking a lot more tired than he should for a man in his late twenties.

"We'll find something Feliks, they always slip up somewhere. And by the way, how does Jones get everything done so quickly?" the American scientist always seemed to get everything done at lightning speed, but this was ridiculous. Work had only started ten minutes ago.

"I dropped everything off at his lab last night; I don't think he goes home anymore." Hans raised an eyebrow willing him to go on. "Remember how he was going out with his flatmate, Arthur? You know, Alastair's brother? Yeah, well they broke up like a month ago and we think Jones is working as late as he possibly can to avoid going home. I'm surprised you don't know this already, I'm sure I mentioned it to you ages ago."

"Must have forgotten," Hans never listened to Feliks' gossip, it was usually some sort of lie turned into a rumour, but this seemed to ring true.

"So… Have I earned my breakfast yet?" Hans opened the bag and tossed a danish at the man. Feliks caught it and called, "thanks!" before pointing to the corner where the coffee was, a silent gesture to take it. Hans smiled; the Pole was a lot easier to deal with early in the morning. He only started the analysing of outfits after lunch and the general sassiness didn't come to him so easily in the morning.

Hans grabbed the coffee and walked back to his office, opening the door with his left hand as he balanced the coffee in his right. He put the crate on his desk before taking one out and walking over to his comatose brother. He placed the cup down on the hard surface before he leant down and let out a nonsensical shout right next to his ear. The reaction was instantaneous; Leon jumped up, flailing around in a brief moment of panic before he'd realised he'd shot up too fast and too far as the chair tipped backwards, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Hans chuckled at the indignant stare Leon sent in his direction.

"That's what you get for a) walking in here with a hangover and b) sleeping at your desk. If you're really that bad go home," he said, not unkindly, but with a bit of force.

"No, no I'm fine. I'll get over it," he said, getting off of the floor and righting his chair. He sat back down and grabbed the coffee that was offered to him. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking a quiet sip of the still hot beverage.

Not more than ten minutes later Belle stormed in, throwing her bag down on her desk.

"What's wrong with you this morning?" Hans said, looking up from some paperwork he was completing.

"I went over to the apartment this morning and nobody knew anything! Nothing at all! I mean, somebody must have heard them, but nobody seemed willing to talk. I then went around the University looking for their classmates, but I got nowhere with that, they both seemed to be relatively well liked. I can't even find a single reason why anybody'd want to kill either boy!" she then practically threw herself down into her seat.

"Well, don't worry about that, both Feliks and Jones haven't found anything either off of the evidence we've gathered and we've also found no other links to the other victim other than that they're all students." He went back to the paperwork, leaving Leon to sift through the histories of all the victims to see if there were any more links and leaving Belle to find something to do.

The day passed pretty quickly, the only interesting thing that happened before the day had ended was at lunchtime whilst he was speaking with his boss, Alastair Kirkland. He'd been giving in a report on what they'd found, which was practically nothing, when he'd felt pressure on his inner thigh. He jumped at the contact and would have tripped over what had just touched him if the thing hadn't wrapped itself around both legs stabilising him. That thing happened to be nothing other than Feliks, who had a tape measure in his hands.

"What on earth are you doing!?" he all but shrieked, thoroughly embarrassed. Why couldn't the Pole pick another time to harass him.

"I was just measuring your legs, which I have to say are gorgeous, I mean look at the size of them, they're the longest I've ever seen," he replied, acting as if it was completely normal to measure someone's legs.

"Why would you want to measure my legs? And you also need permission to touch me in any place!" His face was red from mortification and he also looked utterly horrified that the Pole thought his legs were gorgeous. Alastair was outright laughing at Feliks' antics and the expression on the Dutchman's face; he'd wished he'd taken a picture because it was a truly priceless moment.

"Well, it's for a project. And you know you liked it, don't lie Haniel, it's not good. Now stay still, I'll be done soon," he moved forwards with the tape measure. Hans backed away.

"No! Get away!"

"Just stay still!" the Pole lunged forwards grabbing the Dutchman round the waist with surprising strength and toppling him over.

The next few minutes were spent rolling on the floor; Hans trying to get Feliks off of him whilst Feliks tried to get the tape around Hans' body. Meanwhile, Alastair had finally managed to get his phone out and was busy taking photos as he laughed. The Pole eventually gave up; getting up off the floor and brushing dirt off of his sleek, professional work trousers and fixing his white shirt.

"Fine then. I'll just guess, it's not hard," he said, flipping his hair and turning on his heel before stalking out of the room; leaving a dazed Dutchman on the floor. Hans got to his feet and mumbled apologies at his boss before asking to be excused. He practically ran from the room, slowing to a quick march as he approached his office. He threw the door open and decided he was going to do as much paperwork as possible in an attempt to forget about what had just happened; it didn't work.

The day flew by until it was quarter to five; just before they were off duty for the rest of the day. That was when the office phone rang. Belle answered it and spoke a series of confirmations before hanging up.

"We've got another body," she stated, grabbing her stuff.

"Any information this time?" Hans asked; last time the receptionist failed to get a name, only an address.

"Yeah; Ludwig Beilschmidt, German exchange student, lives in apartment three of a flat at thirty-four Froghall Road. Roderich Edelstein, who lives in the next apartment found him lying in the doorway of his apartment at twenty past two."

In no time at all they were at the apartment; Belle went to take the witnesses statements whilst Hans and Leon searched for clues around the body and Feliks tried to get an assumption of the cause of death and the time of death. Hans quickly managed to find the feather, but this time there was a note attached to it. It said;

Hey again!

So I guess you've decided not to give up on this case if you're the same person that got my last message~ If that's the case, then I do consider you to be incredibly foolish and a little bit thick. You can't possibly think you have a chance of catching me; you wouldn't be able to figure it out even if I was standing in front of you. Then again, I rather hope you do catch me; I'm starting to get a little bored. I've already killed four people here.

Ah well~ I did promise to give you a clue this time. I know all the victims, all of them, including the silly Dane that interrupted my second kill. Now that's your clue, I suggest you look over your notes and cctv camera footage again and see if you can spot me. If not, then I'll see you at my next kill~

Bye~

The first letter seemed scary, but this one just got on Hans nerves. The arrogant son of a bitch thought he could get away with this scot free, but that wasn't going to happen on his watch; not now, not ever.

Hans continued searching through the flat; he managed to find another bloody shoe print, but the rest of the apartment seemed to be in good shape, it was all neat and tidy; probably just like the Ludwig had left it. He turned around to find Leon holding up a baseball bat that had been tossed aside; it had a little blood on it. He guessed this was probably all they were going to find if the other cases were anything to go by.

"How was he killed?" Hans asked; Feliks looked like he was finished analysing the body for now.

"Hit over the head with a heavy object, causing the man to be temporarily stunned. Then he was choked by the towel hanging around his neck, note the purple bruises around his neck. I'm not surprised someone killed this one, look at him! The tank top is so awful and it totes doesn't go with his cargo pants; makes him look too macho. And he really, really needs a shower…" Hans tuned him out at this point; he wasn't pleased with the Pole, even paying attention to him for that long just brought back the memories of what had happened at lunchtime. His reputation of being the dour and scary Dutchman was over. He mourned the loss in his heart.

By the time Hans had stopped daydreaming the other two men were already halfway down the stairs carrying the gurney. He walked out of the room and went to check on Belle, but she still looked busy, so he just left her to continue on; she'd know where they were. He went outside and stood as far away from Feliks as he possibly could without Leon noticing; which wasn't very far at all.

"Hey bro, what's wrong with you today?" Damn Leon and his good sense of being able to detect tension. "It's just you were really spaced out today after you came back from your meeting. What happened?"

"Nothing." It was easier to lie to Leon without feeling guilty if he kept it short. He could hear Feliks snort. "Feliks, if you open your trap, I swear to God you'll be the next murder we'll be investigating!" Even with the threats, Feliks continued to laugh.

"Feli, what happened at lunch?" Feliks would tell Leon everything, despite any protests Hans may try to give.

"Well Lee, Hanny here wouldn't let me measure him; he's so stubborn, you and Belle were a piece of cake to measure. So…"

He was cut off by the door of the flat swinging open and Belle running out.

"We need to have words with our Norwegian friend."


	4. Chapter 3

Hans sent the rest of the team home, but had all the intentions of going round to question Lukas Bondevik himself. He made sure that they had all finished up for the day when they were back at the station before he walked to Orchard Street, seeing as it wasn't too far from the station and respectively his own house. He chapped on the door three times and before his fist could hit it for the fourth the door swung open.

"What do you want?" Lukas demanded, eyes darting around trying to see past Hans. He looked haggard and worn, which honestly didn't surprise Hans, but the level of paranoia he seemed to be experiencing did slightly worry the detective.

"To ask you a couple of questions about your whereabouts between 2 and 3pm this afternoon," he stated, looking at the Norwegian's face to see if his expression could give away any sign of guilt. Not that Hans thought he was guilty of either of the murders as his grief seemed pretty genuine when his brother was killed. There was also the fact that strangulation was an incredibly physical method of killing and, although Lukas was in good physical condition, he wasn't quite well built enough to strangle two people in two days.

"I was here, sorting out some things," he replied cautiously.

"Then why do I have reports saying that you were seen at 34 Froghall Road just before a murder had taken place?" Hans demanded, taking a no nonsense tone in the hopes that Lukas would cut the bullshit.

"One of my friends, Berwald Oxenstierna lives there; he was related to Matthias so I was trying to sort some things out with him. Why, is something wrong?"

"You know damn well that something's wrong, Ludwig Beilschmidt was found dead and not only were you seen before, but a witness says he saw you after he was found dead. You were asking questions and poking around the crime scene."

"I was investigating. I want to be able to find out who the fuck did this to my brother and my best friend," Lukas spat out.

"I know you want answers, but you should leave it to the professionals. Also you snooping around the case puts you at an even higher risk of being killed. So please stop."

"No."

"Yes, otherwise I'll arrest you for trespassing on a crime scene and for the obstruction of justice."

"What I was doing is hardly obstructing justice, and maybe it might help to get some insight from someone who studies criminal behaviour." By now they were toe to toe, trying to stare each other down.

"You're a student. Until I see a certified degree I don't want you anywhere near any future crime scenes, whether they pertain to this case or not. Understand me?" Hans practically growled. He was 27 years old; he didn't deserve this kind of attitude from someone that was possibly an entire decade younger than him.

"Fine."

"Good." With that he left, deciding to head home for the night.

Roderich Edelstein wouldn't consider himself anyone usually worthy of note. He was a quiet, solitary man, preferring the intricacies of music to having too big of a social life. He did have a few friends mind you, and certainly wasn't disliked amongst the music community of Aberdeen University, where he had decided to teach music for a few years before moving on to another country. Yesterday there had been a murder only a couple of apartments over from his own and the murderer had taken the life of one of the students. He hadn't managed to save the poor boy, even though he had rushed out at the sound of yelling. He wasn't able to hear clearly what the boy was saying in any case.

He had finished up teaching his classes for the day and decided he was going to go straight home, to practice on his beloved piano. It was sleek and played with the most glorious clarity he had ever heard, he even had it specially brought over from Austria as he couldn't bear to be apart from it. He unlocked the door to his flat and carefully locked it; it didn't hurt to take some extra precautions he thought. He put his messenger bag down on the coffee table in his living room and he took off his navy (not Prussian, he would remark) blue coat off and hung it on the back of one of his chairs. He didn't bother taking off his work clothes to change into something more comfortable as he hadn't played in a few days and the more time wasted, the less time he had to play.

He sat down on the stool, adjusting his shirt cuffs quickly before flexing his fingers and playing the first note. It didn't sound right. In fact, it wasn't making a sound at all. He got up off of the stool and lifted the lid to see what the problem was. There was no piano wire. Before he even had a chance to react, someone had grabbed him round the neck, pulling him backwards. A strand of piano wire was looped around his neck, and with that he stopped struggling against his attacker; piano wire is incredibly sharp and he knew that if he moved, it would slice through his skin.

He could feel the form of a pretty tall man, only a couple more inches taller than himself, but he was much broader and definitely more muscled than the lithe Austrian. He bent down to Roderich's ear to hiss, "You heard," into it, making the Austrian's skin crawl.

"No, if you're referring to yesterday, then I didn't hear a thing," he stated calmly, feeling the piano wire dig into his neck. He knew that showing fear would make his attacker more likely to kill him faster, so he attempted to keep calm.

"Liar," the man chuckled. He couldn't identify the accent, but it was definitely foreign. "Who did you tell?" he demanded pulling the wire even tighter, cutting a narrow line around his neck. He could feel the blood trickle from the wound. He grimaced and hissed slightly in pain.

"No one, I swear to you."

"Too bad, I'm just going to have to kill you anyway," he whispered directly into his ear. He loosened the piano wire from Roderich's neck, and kicked at the back of the Austrian's knee, forcing him to his knees and quickly turned him over onto his back. Roderich had literally no time to react before the other man was on top of him, his hands wrapped around his neck. He struggled, trying to kick his attacker. He couldn't even see the man's face as it was covered by a mask. He could feel the man's hands tighten even more around his neck; he sputtered trying to breath, but he couldn't get any air in. After a minute more of struggling his arms grew heavy and he couldn't struggle anymore and his eyes shut, before all went dark.

The man, after assessing his work was done, placed a red feather on top of the Austrian's chest, and wrapped a couple of loops of the wire around his neck, before tossing the envelope beside him. He grinned behind the mask; his little detective would have fun with this one. If only he would notice the clue.


	5. Chapter 4

The call came in at 4pm; Roderich Edelstein was dead and the killer had left behind yet another note and feather. There were some major changes with this victim though; firstly he was roughly Hans’ age, which was far older than any of the students he had killed so far and the second was the fact that he hadn’t restrained Roderich at all; the others had been incapacitated before they were killed. This was putting Hans on edge; he was becoming more brutal. He was escalating.  
Hans sighed, picking up yet another godforsaken letter off yet another victim. He was definitely getting tired of this; the bastard was too good at covering up his tracks. The letter as usual was arrogant and self-assured, it was shorter though, without the small-talk at the beginning or the end. It read as follows:

I will give you your clue now as promised. I know you. I know what you do every day, I know where you live, which desk you sit at, who your friends are, everything. I know everything about your horridly boring life and nothing would give me more pleasure than to make it more interesting. So have a good think because I’m someone you know. Oh and before I forget, I recommend you keep your Norwegian friend close, case an unfortunate accident happen to him as well.  
Yours Faithfully  
Me~

He reread the letter a few times before he asked his team to process the scene whilst he hurried to Lukas’ flat. Truthfully, he was glad that the Norwegian wasn’t involved, but to know that the killer had the knowledge that he had told Lukas not to get involved in the case was unnerving. 

Han’s arrived at Lukas’ flat to find it in a state of utter disarray. The table was upturned and there was broken glass lying over the floor; some of it was stained with what was unmistakably blood. There was one clear area in the entire apartment, and in that clear spot was a phone. Hans picked it up and had a look at it; there was nothing outwardly remarkable about the phone so he turned it on. As soon as he did that an alert flashed on the screen; 1 new message. Curious, he accessed the message; it was a video file. He pressed play.

There Lukas was, blindfolded and tied to a chair. His arms were securely fastened to the arms of the wooden chair and his legs were also bound. His shirt had been tossed away exposing the younger man’s extremely in shape torso and chest. He was clearly awake and alert, seeming to be in a bit of a panic; not that Hans could honestly blame him. He had a smattering of bruises on his face, a split lip and the back of his head still looked wet with blood. A tall figure dressed all in black, wearing a ski mask and carrying a small whiteboard sauntered into view. He seemed to write something for a second. He then flipped the board over; it said “Hello Hans, nice to finally meet you.” Hans clenched his jaw, he couldn’t kill Lukas; he just couldn’t. He feared for the life of the Norwegian, he had made a promise to himself that the boy wouldn’t be harmed, not after everything that son of a bitch had put him through. He couldn’t just stand here and watch, but unfortunately that’s all he could do. The man wiped out his message and scrawled a new one; “I fear our game is going to have to come to a close soon,” quickly followed by, “Here’s some motivation for you to find me, every day you spend without having found me I will carve a new word into out Norwegian friend’s skin.” Hans gasped, what kind of sick bastard would do this to someone? He wanted to stop watching, but he knew he had to continue on. 

The man took out a silver knife, adorned with red jewels around the hilt making it seem very ornamental; and by extension very deadly. He then knelt beside Lukas, ran his hand down the side of Lukas’ face, making Lukas flinch away from the touch, uttering a sharp gasp. Then he began. He slowly cut into the Norwegian’s pale flesh, dragging the knife down in a slow exaggerated movement; he was putting on a show. Lukas cried out, trying to arch away, but to no avail. Crimson dripped from the top of his chest, right below his collar bone. Hans resisted the urge to vomit. Lukas’ cries turned into a scream as the man started the second letter; evidently digging deeper. The excruciating torture continued for another minute before it was over. In a neat, cursive script Hans’ own name was written; marking Lukas as another of his failures. If he was to live through this then he would forever be reminded of this event. No. He wouldn’t have that attitude; Lukas will live through this he assured himself. The camera turned off leaving Hans with no more information. 

Shakily, Hans took another look around the place. He could see that a vase had been used to render Lukas unconscious. He quickly surmised that there would be nothing left for him to find. How on earth was he meant to capture this man? He had to, for Lukas’ sake, and secondarily for his own; he would be haunted with the nightmares of that man carving letters into an innocent man’s chest. 

He left the flat, not before calling his boss and asking for a forensics team to be sent out. He quickly hurried back to the station, still feeling faintly nauseous and shaky. His first stop would be Feliks’ office and then up to see Alfred, the perky, young forensic scientist. 

He knocked on Feliks’ door before proceeding to open it anyway without a reply.  
“Haniel,” he sighed, not even bothering to turn round, “it’s rude to just come in without an invitation.” He spun round to gauge the Dutchman’s reaction. “Oh my God! Han’s what’s wrong? Sit down for Christ’s sake!” He practically yelled, seeing the ghostly shade of white the man’s face was. “What happened? Oh God it’s that Norwegian isn’t it? Oh no, no, no, no.” Feliks was just rambling now. 

“Gone… Gone, but the guy left me a video.” He paused a moment trying to collect himself, he was the superior officer here, but this was far too much for him. “He carved my name into Lukas’ skin. My fucking name, into that barely of age Norwegian.” He rested his head in his hands. “What am I going to do? He’s threatening to do it again each day he remains free.” He looked to the Pole for support. Although they appeared to be at each other’s throats constantly, it was no secret that they did actually care for each other. Feliks patted Hans’ shoulder, knowing better than to speak platitudes to him. When the Dutchman finally regained his composure he stood up out of the wooden chair he had been proffered. He nodded his thanks to Feliks, before walking out of the door and up to visit Alfred.

Alfred’s lab was pure white, and smelt a bit like a hospital; completely sterile. Although it was unmistakably Alfred’s lab as the walls were plastered with movie posters and American flags. Just being in the room hurt Hans’ eyes with it’s gaudy and bright colours. The sunny blonde turned around to face Hans. Although he was a rather tall man the American had nothing on the 6ft5 Dutchman. 

“Hey Hans! How’re you today!?” His loud and boisterous voice grated on the Dutchman’s tattered nerves. 

“Fine.” He ground out. “I have this for you,” he said taking the phone from the crime scene out of the evidence bag that he’d, quite conveniently, had in his pocket when he was at the flat. 

“Oh goody, yet more evidence to sort through,” he grumbled. Alfred F Jones, practically the only sunshine the North East of Scotland had any hope in hell of getting, was grumbling. That was odd, very, very odd. On a more close observation the man had the darkest circles around his eyes and they actually seemed slightly bloodshot. Not to mention his slightly more manic than usual behaviour. 

“Something wrong Jones?” he asked curiously. This was why he became a detective. His curiosity knew no bounds and his lust for adventure never failed him when he was younger. 

“I just, I just really don’t like this case. Although it does make me feel grateful that my brother’s ex-military; at least he’s safe. Just… just promise me you’ll catch that bastard before I have to process more evidence like this. We’ve not had to deal with a serial killer in so long, and never one this arrogant or self-assured.” Han’s could only nod dumbly; he forgot that the American did have an extraordinarily wide range of emotions sometimes. “And can you wear this,” he said, producing a necklace, consisting of a thread cord and a small circular pendant, similar to a coin, “for luck?” 

“Sure, sure,” he said, slipping the thing over his head, fully intending to take it off again once he was out of the room.  
Suddenly Belle run into the room, “Hans there’s been another death!” Tears were streaming down her face, and she looked like she was going to go into hysterics. “God, Han’s it’s Toris!”


End file.
